


Mind Unweaving

by iseestars



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol, Cheating, Cocaine, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Language, Heroin, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Manipulation, Mood Swings, Past Abuse, Recreational Drug Use, Relapsing, Speed-balling, Vomiting, Withdrawal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 18:40:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7280062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iseestars/pseuds/iseestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU - Steve lets not only Tony, but heroine back into his life. It only takes days for his life to spiral out of control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this over the course of a couple of days, and I was hoping to show how quickly Steve's life starts to spiral out of control as he relapses.
> 
> Title comes from the All American Rejects song "It Ends Tonight."

“Hey.”

Steve was so shocked, he choked. The last person he expected to call him was his ex-boyfriend, especially since things didn’t end as well as he would have liked. He didn’t know what to say; the last encounter they had shared ended with the police being called by the neighbors.

“You there?” The familiar voice sent shivers down his spine and made his heart start to race.

“Uh, hey, Tony, yeah, I’m here…” He felt like a babbling idiot. His life was right where he wanted it to be, and Tony only ever brought trouble. He contemplated hanging up, saying he was busy, but his hand shook with something…Distant, faded memories started to fill his mind.

There was an awkward silence that lasted a moment too long.

“How’ve you been? You sound good.” Even he sounded caught off guard, like he wasn’t sure if Steve was going to answer or stay on the phone. “I’m sorry to be bothering you …I just—” Tony stopped there, as if it was hard for him to continue.

“It’s alright,” Steve assured. He couldn’t stand the sound of indecision or even the possibility of regret of the other man. Tony didn’t deserve to feel like that. The fact that their relationship failed wasn’t either of their faults. At least, that’s what Steve’s therapist tried to convince him. Maybe he could help. “How’re you? Doing okay?”

“Yeah, yeah…” There was a soft rustling, and what sounded like Tony pulling on a cigarette before letting out the smoke. “I was wondering if, uh…”

_No_ , Steve’s mind snapped sharply, _don’t get pulled in. Don’t let him manipulate you. Stay away from him. He’s sick, and you’re barely healthy. Tell him off, hang up. Call someone._

Even though it was his voice of reason, the smartest part of his brain telling him no, Steve shook his head to try to clear his swimming vision. “It’s late, Tony,” he said, his uncertainty clear. He’d already moved to the edge of the bed, though, secretly hoping somewhere within him that Tony would want to see him.

It sounded like the man on the other end of the phone hit his cigarette again. “I just haven’t seen you in a while…” He said it quietly, because they both knew that eighteen months months was certainly more than ‘a while.’

“I can’t…I shouldn’t…you know why, Tone.” _You shouldn’t have called him that_ , his mind chastised. _Now he knows._ “It’s too—”

“I don’t have anything,” Tony said quickly, with a new vigor in his tone. _Liar_ , his mind whispered.

Steve squeezed his eyes shut. He opened his mouth and shook his head, but knew Tony couldn’t see it. He took a deep breath in, and then released it silently.

“Just for a couple minutes, please, Steve,” he begged. Tony never begged. He was always so put together, so in charge and sure of himself. “I just want to see you. Fuck, I miss you so much, babe.” He never sounded like this – so desperate, so vulnerable.

And it made Steve weak. His knees shook as he stood to pace. _Don’t give in_ , his mind tried, _just hang up. You know what’s going to happen._ But his weakness had already overtaken him. “Okay, Tone, just for a couple minutes.”

Tony let out a choked laugh, they said their goodbyes, and Steve started to get dressed. The entire way down the elevator, his brain was at war with itself.

_Stupid_ , it said, _you’re so stupid. He’ll always manipulate you until you stop him. Stand up for yourself. You’re better than this._

_But he needs me_ , he rationalized. _He’s desperate. I can help him._

As he hit his own smoke, he felt anxiety rise into his throat and overtake his body. His hand shook as he held the cigarette to his mouth. What was he most anxious about – seeing and talking to Tony, or something he might have on him? He took deep breaths with his eyes shut until he heard footsteps approaching.

When he looked, it was like nothing had changed. Tony looked much the same: tousled brown hair, bizarre facial hair, an AC/DC t-shirt, and jeans. He was still maybe a little bit too skinny, clothes hanging off of his limbs in the wrong places, but Steve overlooked it when he saw the backpack perched on the other man’s back.

_He lies_ , his mind reminded him.

Their greeting was awkward and forced, and it didn’t get any better as Steve showed his ex-boyfriend into his apartment. Neither of them said much, even as they sat next to each other on his bed. An awkward silence quickly overtook them. _It was never like this before, Steve thought. We were so close. We were there for each other._

His mind responded with, _You were destructive to each other. For each other._

Thankfully, Tony broke the silence. He always had, and some things hadn’t changed. “You look really good.” Steve swallowed thickly as he felt those dark brown eyes slowly sliding up his body. And Steve knew he was telling the truth – while Tony was still thin and underfed, the other man had filled out. His muscles had returned with exercise and a new healthy lifestyle.

“Uh, thanks,” Steve muttered in response. He had never been one for lying in his new life, so he wasn’t going to return the complement.

If his ex-boyfriend noticed, he didn’t give any indication. They sat in silence again as Tony looked over Steve’s small apartment. It wasn’t much – one bedroom, one bath, a small kitchen that connected to a living room. But it was home, and it was his. He’d worked hard to get here.

Steve fumbled with his hands, banging his hands together. As he scanned his eyes over the man beside him, he found his mind locking on to the backpack. It overwhelmed him. _Ignore it_ , his mind kept snapping. _Leave it alone._

“Do you want to take your bag off?” It was the way Tony grabbed one of the straps as his eyes seemed to glaze over that made Steve’s mouth start to water.

Tony stood quickly then, taking a nervous step to the door. “Actually, I should go…I have to, uh, go.”

As the younger man took a couple of steps toward the door again, attempting to make it look normal, Steve reached his hand out. “It’s alright, it doesn’t bother me.” _You pick and choose what you lie about now?_ For a second, he regretted what he said, but it passed quickly.

Tony looked surprised. “Oh, are you sure? I’ll go to the bathroom and…so you don’t have to see it.”

_Let him go_ , his mind screamed. “Okay, yeah. That’s fine.” He was whispering, but he knew Tony could hear him.

For a second, his ex looked almost disappointed, but something gleamed in his eyes. It reminded him of mischief, but it was a hair off. He turned and left the room, slowly crossing the hallway to the bathroom. When the door clicked shut, Steve still stared at it, as if wishing it would have stayed open. He started fidgeting on his bed – running his hands through his hair, pulling his shirt down, shifting his weight back and forth.

_Control yourself_ f, his mind coaxed.

But then he was zoning out, eyes lost on a spot on the wall across from him. He caught himself rubbing his inner elbows and then scratching at the base of his neck. His eyes snapped to the bathroom door when he heard the flick of a lighter being ignited. He ground his teeth together as a decision was made within him.

He rose, and he barely paid attention to his legs carrying him across the carpet to the closed door. Just outside of it, he could almost smell the bitterness as burning metal mixed with bubbling chemicals. He licked his lips, feeling as though his throat was on fire even as he tried not to start drooling. His knuckles shook as they rapped against the door.

Tony made a sound from inside, short and inattentive. Some shuffling came, then silence. “Can I come in?” Steve was confused at how far away his own voice sounded.

Tony was paying attention then, but he sounded startled again. “Are…are you sure? I’m, uh – I can’t – it’s not—” 

_You can’t handle it_ , his mind urged. “It’s okay,” he found himself saying in his rasped voice. It was more for himself, to hear it out loud.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside, mind tuned out by the rushing of blood in his ears and the pounding of his heart in his chest. His breath seemed trapped in his chest, and his eyes couldn’t look away from the syringe in Tony’s hand.

Following his gaze, his ex-boyfriend seemed to understand. “Maybe you should—”

“Can I have some?” The entranced words cut off the younger man, who had a deer-in-headlights look come over his eyes. His mouth was still open with words that weren’t spoken, but he managed to close it again. “Just,” he stopped to lick his lips like a predator hunting prey, “just a little hit? It’ll be—” _You know it won’t be_ “—okay.”

Tony stared at him for a second that seemed to last an eternity. His right hand was already cradling the needle, finger on the plunger, while his left hand held his belt tight around his bicep. As if he suddenly realized what was being asked of him, he nodded dumbly and put the syringe on the counter. He took the belt off of his arm, shook some blood back into it, and motioned for the older man. “Sure, babe, whatever you want,” he murmured.

Steve stepped towards him, arm outstretched for the belt. He looked at it for a second when Tony reached for the syringe. It was the same belt that he’d used when he’d taken his last hit. He’d left for rehab only an hour later, the drug keeping him sated for a couple of hours. _“Just to take the edge off,”_ he’d rationalized to himself. Some things hadn’t changed.

Now, as the needle hovered just above the protruding vein in his elbow, he heard Tony ask from a distance, “Are you sure?”

_Are you? Are you sure you want to throw this all away? Are you sure you want to cause pain again? Are you sure you want to be in pain again?_ He faltered, holding his breath again. Am I? A year and a half of pain, dedication, and success flashed in front of his vision. He remembered his traumatizing withdrawal weeks, every weekly meeting with friends and family, and then how happy he was now. He was overwhelmed and he was convinced he was going to say no.

But then he nodded his head sharply, and all of the regret and memories faded with a pinprick. They melted into black while his body was slowly captured into warmth and familiarity.

From somewhere else, Tony removed the belt. The slow creep of the drug hit him then, flooding his body. He pitched, but the younger man was there to steady him. “You’re alright, babe.” He heard what was said, but he didn’t understand the words.

The warmth turned into an uncomfortable burning, growing within him until he felt like he was going to overheat. A noise of discomfort escaped his throat, and then he was heaving. He felt his knees meet with cold tile, but it did nothing to help the heat filling him. He vomited everything from his stomach into the open toilet. His head hung to the side, eyes closed, as he started to drift. The burning had receded again to a dulling 

“You good, babe? Feeling better?”

Steve cracked his glassy eyes open, and tried to smile at Tony standing above him. He nodded lazily and tried to get his feet under himself, but he started to slip on the tile. Tony reacted faster, doing his best to hoist the larger man. He coerced his limp body to rest against the side of the tub. He turned Steve’s head to the side, “Just in case you throw up again.”

Steve watched in satisfaction as Tony prepared the syringe for himself. There was always something so intimate and sensual about how Tony shot up, and maybe nothing had changed. Maybe the only thing that had changed was Steve, and right now he couldn’t remember why he ever wanted anything but this. His ex-boyfriend pulled the old belt tight around his bicep, held it with his teeth, and then slid the needle into one of the last usable veins in his arm. He let out a harsh breath, discarded the syringe onto the counter, and pulled the belt off. He braced himself on the counter, neck extended as he rested his head back.

He stayed like that for a couple of seconds before he seemed to come back to himself. He shuffled through his bag on the floor, revealing a pack of cigarettes. He lit one with the lighter on the counter, then kneeled down between Steve’s legs. He slid his hand up the thigh in front of him, keeping eye contact with the hazy blue eyes of the other man.

“That looks like it hurts,” he said softly; a hint of a smile played on his lips. At the older man’s confused expression, Tony gently slid his had over the bulge in Steve’s jeans.

His hips bucked, and he let out a desperate sound. He looked down, only now aware of the hard-on stressing against his jeans. He tried to convince his hands to undo and remove his restricting garment, but it felt like he was watching himself from afar.

Tony chuckled, put his smoke into Steve’s mouth, and removed his pants for him. “Getting high always made you so horny.” Tony stood again, wobbled, and then removed his own jeans. They were both left in their t-shirts and underwear, just like how they used to. They’d shoot up and fuck all day and night. Steve racked his brain for reasons to ever leave this feeling again.

The younger man angled himself so that when he sat, he could straddle Steve’s hips, pressing their erections together. “Fuck, Tone…” Steve moaned and convinced his hands to rest on Tony’s exposed thighs.

Tony softly ran his fingers up and down Steve’s arms. “Do you feel good?”

“Yeah,” he breathed out. He hit the smoke between his lips and exhaled around it.

“I missed you, babe.” Tony removed the cigarette from Steve’s mouth. He put it back between his lips and took a hit. “Did you miss us?”

Without even hesitating, and without a voice inside of his mind reminding him of everything he was doing wrong, he nodded. He missed Tony, he missed heroine, and he missed feeling at peace.

He slid his hands under the soft fabric of Tony’s briefs. “I needed this,” he murmured more to himself than the man on top of him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU - Steve lets not only Tony, but heroine back into his life. It only takes days for his life to spiral out of control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this over the course of a couple of days, and I was hoping to show how quickly Steve's life starts to spiral out of control as he relapses.
> 
> Title comes from the All American Rejects song "It Ends Tonight."

“STEVE!”

Steve’s eyes snapped open. He heard pounding from a distance, then someone yelling. Or maybe the pounding was coming from his head. He couldn’t tell for sure, but he did hear someone calling for him. Out of instinct, he reached for his phone on the nightstand. He ended up having to shift through empty beer cans, cigarette packs, and food wrappers before his hand met the cool metal of his phone. When he tried to turn it on, the screen only proved that it had died.

 _How long has it been?_ Steve let out a harsh breath as his mind got up to speed with his awareness. _What time is it?_

 _Shut up_ , he thought silently.

“I know you’re here!” The voice called again. More pounding. “Answer the door, Steve!”

 _You’re in for it now_ , his mind taunted. _She’s not naïve like you._

Steve swore when he tried to stand as pain ricocheted throughout his body. Every movement, even breathing, hurt enough to make him wince. He knew he didn’t have time to check himself in the mirror as the pounds from his front door became more incessant, but he knew that he needed to put a shirt on. Lucky for him, the first one he grabbed in his painful scramble to the door had long sleeves. Whether or not it was dirty was another question.

He swung the door open just as Natasha started to threaten him. He winced at the fluorescent light that burnt his eyes, but he didn’t miss the way his friend’s expression turned from angry to shocked. Her prying eyes started to look past Steve, into the apartment that he realized was in absolute disarray – it was a disaster. He stood in the doorway and held the door against his side tightly.

 _She knows._ Steve squeezed his eyes shut and blinked a couple of times. “Hey, Tash,” he rasped. His voice felt like it hadn’t been used in years. He tried to clear his throat, but it only made it worse. “What’s up?”

She looked all over him as if she was seeing him for the first time. Somehow, she looked repulsed, saddened, and concerned at the same time. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay…” She looked into his eyes, taking a step forward. Steve shifted slightly backwards, pulling the door a centimeter closer to himself. She narrowed her eyes. “You missed work today. Everyone was concerned, so I said I’d call. You didn’t answer, so I thought I’d check on you.”

Natasha looked taken aback by the confusion that swept over Steve’s face. “No, I-I don’t work until Tuesday. It’s only Sunday…” _Is it?_ He felt unsure of himself. His memory was blurry and dark, as if he was looking at it through a pinhole. He couldn’t get enough information from the small snippets that came to him.

His friend narrowed her eyes again. “It’s Tuesday night,” she said shortly.

“No, I—” He stopped short when he got a few mostly-visible snippets of what had happened over the past two and a half days.

Saturday night, Tony came over and they shot up, had sex on the bathroom floor. Into the early hours of the morning, when they both started to come down, they did some more. They went to the store, bought tons of beer and liquor, got some McDonald’s, and then came home. The rest of the time was repetitious. Had it really been three days?

His breath hitched and his heart started to speed in his chest. It hurt. “I, uh, I just haven’t been feeling well. I’ve had the flu, you know? I forgot to plug my phone in since I’ve been sleeping nonstop. Nothing major.” She looked like she didn’t believe him. _You’re a terrible actor. She can help you. Tell the truth. Confess._ “I promise, Tash, I’m fine. I appreciate that everyone’s so concerned, though. Thank you.”

Natasha’s green eyes penetrated deep until it felt like they were going to start peeling his layers back, start to see the lies he was telling. “Okay,” she muttered, but it wasn’t convincing. She was still suspicious.

After a short silence, Steve started to feel himself rubbing his inner elbow. “I have to go,” he lied, eyes downcast. “I’m feeling sick again.” At least you’re not completely lying, his mind whispered.

“Are you okay?” She asked the loaded question as she took another step towards him. He blocked the door as well as he could without curling in on himself. He needed to use before the pain got worse.

“I promise I’m—” _But you’re not_ “—alright.”

She nodded, but it wasn’t friendly. “I’m going to come check on you tomorrow. We’ll go together if you’re up for it.”

 _You’re trapped._ “Sure, yeah, I will be.” His eyes looked nervously back into the apartment. “See you tomorrow.” His last word trailed off as he closed the door. He waited until he heard her huff and shuffle away.

_What are you going to do? Clean up in one night? Shoot up all day at work? You’re fucked._

As he looked around his living room, Steve ran his hands through his hair, fingernails scraping against his scalp maybe a little bit too hard. Saying his apartment looked like a disaster was an understatement. It didn’t even look habitable. Almost all of the furniture in the living room had been broken, liquor and beer stained almost every surface, and burns littered the leather couch and carpet.

He moved to the bathroom, where he splashed some cold water over his face. It mixed with the sweat that was dampening his brow. He chanced a glance at himself in the mirror and winced.

_You talked to her looking like this. You know she remembers._

His eyes were sunken in, dark bags surrounding them. His hair was limp and disheveled, hanging in his dull blue eyes. His lips were chapped and dry, which mirrored how his mouth felt. Natasha really had seen him like this, but she didn’t say anything. Maybe she really thought he was sick…

_You can try to convince yourself._

With a bad taste in his mouth, Steve took quick steps into the bedroom. First, he plugged his phone into its charger. Tony was still fast asleep on his stomach, face turned away from the man standing over the bed. His kit was open and inviting on the nightstand next to him.

Steve knew that if he helped himself, Tony would freak. _Maybe that’s a good idea. Remember when you were together?_

“Tony,” he said softly instead. “Tony!” He leaned down to shake the other man awake. “Wake up, Tone.”

The younger man smacked his hand away with an unhappy and sleepy grunt. It was a warning.

“Come on, I really need some, please?” He knew Tony wanted to sleep, he always did, but he needed it. He shook him again.

“Holy fuck,” Tony snapped. He turned his head to glare at his ex as he pulled his arm away. “What the fuck is your problem? Can’t you wait a minute? Jesus fucking Christ.” He shifted to sit up and rolled his eyes when Steve took his shirt off. He collected his kit from the bedside table and held up the balloon.

Steve tried to look at it over his shoulder. “Is there enough?” _Why are you so desperate?_

“What if there isn’t?” Tony asked it in malicious intent, and it hit its mark. When his ex cowered, he kept prying. “What are you going to do? Huh? No one wants to sell to you, just in case you were wondering.”

Tears stung Steve’s eyes. _Don’t you see what he’s doing? Kick him out, call Natasha. She’ll help you._ “I’m sorry, Tone…”

Tony looked satisfied for a moment before he sighed. He was relenting. “There’s enough if we speed-ball it.” He leaned over the side of the bed to pull a small baggie of coke out of his backpack.

 _Oh, that’s a good idea_ , his mind snapped. _You know it’ll make it worse._

Steve stared at the drugs on his ex-boyfriend’s lap. His mouth started to water all over again. As if in a daze, he murmured, “Yeah, we could do that.”

xxx

Steve loved to admit that speed-balling was his favorite way to do heroine. It took the drowsiness off just enough to keep his wits about him. The downside was that time flew by even faster.

Natasha had visited him around seven thirty, they started using around eight, and when he looked at the clock again, it was ten fifteen in the morning. “Oh _fuck_ ,” he swore. He shot out of bed, Tony making a sound of annoyance.

“What are you doing?” His ex asked as he started to pull random briefs over himself. Tony lit a smoke and stared at him as he scrambled around the room.

“I have to go to work,” he said quickly. He found his work pants and shirt in the dirty hamper. _I forgot to wash them. Stupid_ , he thought to himself. His pants could pass, but his rumpled button-up had an obvious stain on the front. He might have been able to use a bleach stick, but it had crusted into the fabric. “Shit,” he muttered. He pulled it across his shoulders anyways, doing the buttons as he searched for his tie.

“Are you going to be okay?” A puff of smoke left his mouth. _Sexy_ , Steve thought.

Steve stopped shuffling through the drawer of his dresser. He assessed himself for a moment. He was still buzzing, but he could tell it wouldn’t last through his whole shift. “I think…I should be. I’m pretty sure.” He finally found his tie and slid it under the collar of his shirt. He gave up on tying it when his phone buzzed. He shot across the room to check it.

 **Natasha:** be there in 2

 _Shit, shit, shit._ He stumbled into the bathroom where he brushed his teeth and then slicked his hair back with some water. His eyes weren’t quite as dull or sunken in as the night before, but his pupils were mere pinholes.

“What am I supposed to do while you’re gone?” He sounded pissed, like this was cutting into something he had planned.

Steve had reentered his room, stuffing his wallet and keys into his pockets haphazardly. His response was rushed and stressed. “You can do whatever. You can stay here, if you want, or—”

“Oh, so now I’m supposed to wait for you whenever you leave? Just sit here and pine until you decide to come back?” His cigarette had almost burnt out.

Steve dropped his hands to his side. “Oh, Tony, you know that’s not what I meant. I’m not just leaving, I’m going to _work_.” Why were they both getting so angry? Tony’s jaw was clenched, and his eyes shown with anger. “Tone,” he tried calmly after a deep breath, “you’re welcome to stay if that’s what you want to do.”

Tony looked him over a couple of times. “Do you have any cash on you?”

 _That’s a good question_ , Steve thought. He pulled his wallet out and opened it. No cash; he’d spent all of his tips over the weekend. “Not right now, but I will after work.”

“Well how am I supposed to pick up?”

“Can you just get it and I’ll—”

“I don’t have any money, _Steven_.” Yeah, Tony was livid. He only used Steve’s full name when he was past pissed off. His eyes were expectant, as if he knew what was coming. Steve jumped when a knock sounded loudly at the door. “Well?”

The older man’s finger hovered over his credit card. He pulled it out and begrudgingly handed it over. “Nineteen seventy-one,” Steve whispered, giving the security code as well.

It felt strange, but he gave Tony a kiss before he left the room. Natasha tried to get a glimpse into the apartment again, but Steve pulled it shut tightly behind him. She looked over his clothes, obviously unimpressed.

“Let’s go, or we’ll be late,” he ushered.

She nodded, but didn’t look like she was through with him.

xxx

Steve’s morning side work was easy to complete. He was still focused, able to rush through his tasks without a care in the world. He might have broken a record, actually, because he was finished by ten forty-five. He stepped out for a quick smoke before the lunch rush arrived. He checked his phone, but nothing. What was he expecting?

He decided to text Tony: meet up on my lunch break?

A response came almost immediately. **Tony:** can’t, picking up

Steve bit his lip in an attempt to ignore the anger bubbling in his chest. It didn’t take four hours to pick up a balloon of heroine and some coke. Tony had connections that could last him a lifetime, so he never had trouble finding any.

 **Steve:** it shouldn’t take that long.

 **Tony:** relax drama queen. it’s the good stuff

At first, his heart fluttered with excitement. He kept repeating the last few words to himself. _The good stuff, the good stuff, the good stuff._ But then, when he reread the message, his heart dropped. The only person that had “the good stuff,” or so Tony called it, was Clint. Needless to say, Steve and Clint never got along.

He was about to send a message that he knew would cause a battle, but his manager, Maria, interrupted him. “Steve!” She called him from the front door. “First table’s yours.”

He tucked his phone back into his pocket and rushed back inside. The beginning was easy. He was vibrant, happy, and present. He helped his coworkers while always keeping his own tables happy. He made impressive tips from the regulars and flashed his award-winning smile at newcomers. _Works like a charm_ , he thought to himself as he cashed another table out. He could stop taking tables at two pm, and time was still flying by.

It was around one thirty that he started to notice that his hands were shaking. He squeezed his fingernails into his palms to try to keep them at bay. He had no such luck when he ran into Maria while he was getting drinks for a new table. She looked concerned when the ice filling the glass clinked harshly together.

“You okay?” She stopped in the doorway, food in hands, but was more concerned with her employees as a manager should be.

“Huh?” Steve looked at her before she motioned to his hands. “Oh, yeah, uh, my blood sugar’s just low. I haven’t eaten yet.” He pulled the drink from the fountain and positioned it so that he could hold two glasses in one hand. A particularly sharp tremor sent some Pepsi spilling onto his shirt.

Her eyebrows furrowed in alarm. “Are you sure? Do you need help?” She took a step backwards, back into the kitchen.

“No, Maria, I swear I’m fine.” He refilled the spilled drink and put a forced smile on his mouth. His heart started to beat heavily in his chest and he felt sweat bead on his forehead. “I promise.”

When she finally left, worry still radiating off of her, Steve let out a ragged breath. _Fuck._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU - Steve lets not only Tony, but heroine back into his life. It only takes days for his life to spiral out of control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this over the course of a couple of days, and I was hoping to show how quickly Steve's life starts to spiral out of control as he relapses.
> 
> Title comes from the All American Rejects song "It Ends Tonight."

Tony never came back. He didn’t respond to any texts or calls. The only reason Steve knew he was still around is because money was being taken out of his bank account. He checked his bank app every second he got, and almost a thousand dollars of his hard-earned money had disappeared. And Tony wasn’t lying when he said no one wanted to sell to him. Even as he was curled over in pain, crying on the phone to people who he used to call friends, everyone claimed that they were busy or didn’t have anything.

Work had been awful; he’d been withdrawing since the night before, and he was happy, for once, to be the first sent home from lack of tables.

The last person he could even think of to call was, much to his dismay, Clint. He stared at the number and hesitated over the call button. He heaved and vomited, and that was it. He pressed send.

The phone rang once, twice, three times. On the fourth ring, Clint answered.

“Who is this?” It wasn’t a strange question, really, because Steve had changed his number after rehab. He’d lied when he’d said he’d deleted everyone’s number, because maybe he knew that this would happen.

“Steve,” he choked out through tears. “I need some—”

“STEVE! What’s up!? I haven’t talked to you in forever!” Clint either didn’t get that this was an emergency, or he didn’t care. _Both, probably_ , his mind confirmed.

The sick man clenched his teeth around a sob. “Could I get some? Do you have any?”

“I just ran out,” he said with fake sympathy. “I wish I did, because you don’t sound too good.” _He’s perceptive._ There was a rustling from the other line, and then Clint hissed through his teeth. “That fucking hurt, Tone.”

A sick shiver ran through Steve’s body. “T-Tony’s there?”

“Huh?” More shuffling, a release of breath, a belt jingling as it was pulled on. “Oh, yeah, he’s here.” _They’re using without you_ , his mind taunted.

“FUCK YOU.” It just slipped out, and he hung up right after. _There goes your last chance._

He sent one last text message before he vomited again.

 **Steve:** if you’re not back tonight i’m cancelling my card

xxx

_Everyone knows._

He was so lost in his sick daze, that his own mind startled him enough that he tipped a drink onto a waiting customer. A glass of Pinot Noir immediately started staining the man’s expensive blue suit and white shirt. It was ruined.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Steve swore, throwing napkins on the man’s lap. “I-I’m so sorry, I—”

“Rogers.” Nick’s voice made him freeze. “My office. Now.” The business man was swearing up and down, demanding that the stupid waiter get the hell away from him.

“Sorry…” Steve mumbled it as he walked away towards the very back of the restaurant. He couldn’t meet Natasha’s eyes as he passed by her, because he knew that they were filled with suspicion and worry.

Eyes still downcast, Steve sat across from Nick Fury, the owner of the high-end restaurant. He was a large, intimidating man that wore an all black suit with an eye patch over his left eye. His one-eyed stare and unyielding expression only made him more daunting.

The silence was suffocating. Steve felt sweat beading across his hairline and palms; he shifted back and forth in his chair. He never lifted his eyes from the floor.

_He’s going to fire you. He knows. If you ask for help, you’ll get off easy._

“What’s this about?” He asked it softly, almost a whisper.

“It’s about you,” Nick boomed in his stern voice. He almost sounded flabbergasted that his employee would ask such a question.

Steve shrunk back into himself, crouching his shoulder even more. “I-I’m sorry I made a few mistakes, I…it’s just…”

“A few mistakes? A few?” He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “A few mistakes is sending the wrong item back to the kitchen once or twice. It’s breaking a glass every now and then. It’s even coming to work with a small cold.” He leaned forward again, interlocking his fingers on his desk. “Over the past two days, you have managed to ring in five wrong orders, broke seven glasses, spilled food and drinks on customers, and almost vomited on a table.” His eye narrowed. “Do you see why I can’t overlook this as ‘a few mistakes?’ I’m not even going to mention the no-call no-show you pulled on Tuesday.”

Steve felt tears burning his eyes. He felt like he was going to overheat as his heart pounded in his chest. His stomach turned and a bad taste formed in his mouth. _You’re losing it_ , his mind sang mockingly.

When his employee didn’t respond, Nick continued. “I’m not only worried about my customer’s and employees’ safety, but I’m mostly concerned about your personal safety. Natasha made sure Maria and I knew about your…personal struggles in the past. We’re all concerned that you might have had a slight setback. Working in an environment such as this can be stressful for someone in your situation.”

_He gets it. He knows._

Steve gritted his teeth together. Ever since Tony didn’t come back and withdrawal pains had taken over, he’d been experiencing violent mood swings. He felt his anxiety and discomfort turn into unbridled anger as he turned his bloodshot eyes to meet the one of his employer’s. “People in what situation? Recovered addicts? Yeah, it’s a bar, but I never had an alcohol problem. I went to rehab, I go to meetings, I haven’t shot up or drank or smoked anything besides cigarettes in a year and a half. I’ve been working here for almost a year and I’ve stayed clean.” _Stop lying._ He took a deep breath as his chin quivered; his hands gripped the sides of the chair he sat in until his knuckles were white. “Even though it’s not yours or Maria’s or Natasha’s business, I’ve just been sick lately. I don’t know if it’s something I ate or something that’s been going around my apartment, but I’m just sick.”

Nick seemed unimpressed. “I’ve heard it all before, Mr. Rogers, and I know all the lies and tricks to make people think you’re just ‘going through something.’”

“Oh, do you? I had no idea you had so much knowledge on what being an addict is like. It’s hell because of people like you. I get a little sick, and suddenly you’re breathing down my back.” His voice was raising and he knew it, but he couldn’t control himself.

“I _do_ know what it’s like.” Nick’s voice started to get louder in response. “I’ve been sober for ten years. I’ve fallen off the wagon enough times to know what rock bottom looks like. I’d like to help you before you reach that point.”

 _Oh, he definitely knows. He’s_ been _there._

“I DON’T NEED HELP.” He was outright screaming now, standing and pushing his chair over. “I need you, Maria, and Natasha off my fucking back. I need space to breathe. I need time to get over being fucking sick.”

His employer stood behind his desk to match him. His voice had lowered, though. “Who’re you using with? I know you’re not doing it alone, not with the way you’ve been checking your phone. Are you being safe?”

_Tell him everything. Now. Stop the lies._

“Shut the fuck up,” Steve barked, but he wasn’t sure if it was directed to his employer or the voice in his head. He ran his fingers through his hair, fingernails scraping his scalp until it throbbed.

“Is it your ex? Natasha told us all about him. He dragged you down, Steve, and he’s doing it again. We can help you.” Nick started to step around his desk, approaching his employee like he was a wounded animal.

“Don’t talk about Tony,” Steve said evenly, softly. “You don’t know him and you sure as hell don’t know me.” He felt his stomach turn, so he turned, shoulders squared, and swung the door open. He started to leave the office, trying to look as normal as he could.

 _You handled that well_ , his mind snapped.

“You think you’re burning a bridge, Steve,” Nick called after him. He didn’t chase him, though. “But you’re wrong. We’ll all still be here when you need us.”

He reentered the restaurant, and made a beeline for Natasha. She was in the middle of taking an order when he grabbed her bicep and spun her around. She made a startled sound of pain and annoyance from being interrupted.

 _You’ll regret this_ , his mind warned.

“Mind your own business, you prying cunt.” Steve pushed her away enough to cause her to reel. Her two customers, businessmen, stood and stepped between her and Steve. He ground his teeth again and started for the door.

“Steve!” He heard Maria calling. “Steve, wait!”

“You stay away from me too, bitch.” She stopped then, mouth open.

Nick slowly came to stand next to her, hands in his pockets. His eye held a look of knowledge and sympathy. It made Steve sick. As soon as he left the restaurant, he heaved the contents of his empty stomach onto the sidewalk. With one last glance, he raised his middle fingers and directed them towards the two people watching him leave.

He started on his way back to his apartment when he checked his phone one last time. Nothing. Not a single text or call. He opened his bank app and used the given number to contact customer support.

xxx

Steve hated fighting. Before he and Tony broke up when he decided to go to rehab, all they did was fight. It started verbal, both of them taking shots when they were coming down or withdrawing. Later, it became physical, sometimes for no reason, and would end with punches being thrown. They always ended bruised and exhausted. This time, it was no different.

Tony had been waiting for him at his apartment, eyes cold as Steve approached. The older man had unlocked the door and stepped in, only to be forced back against the closing door. Tony had screamed about the cancelled debit card, Steve screamed back about Clint, and they ended up swinging. The younger man managed to land a punch to Steve’s eye, and eventually Steve was able to land a knee against Tony’s ribs.

Now, after all the fighting, they sat on opposite sides of the bed. Steve looked over his shoulder at Tony, never taking his hand off of his swollen eye. “I don’t want to fight anymore,” he murmured softly. _Like he’s never head that before_ , his mind scolded. He shook his head; the adrenaline from work and fighting was starting to wear off. A sick feeling crept into his stomach.

The younger man made a sound that could have been an agreement. He was too busy preparing a needle, flicking out the air bubbles. He handed the worn belt to Steve. “Arm,” he demanded.

Without question and maybe a little bit too eagerly, he wrapped the tourniquet around his arm and held it out straight. The younger man emptied the syringe into his arm and removed the belt for him. “Oh shit…” The warmth that flooded his body finally overtook him. His mind was finally silent and he was able to relax. He lay down against the pillows and felt his eyes start to droop.

Out of the haziness that overtook his vision, he saw Tony prepping another needle. “You do a lot today?” Steve couldn’t help but ask as he wondered if cancelling his debit card had actually stopped the younger man from what he wanted, or if it just pissed him off.

Tony shrugged. “A couple speed-balls, not that much.” After he shot the contents of the needle into his arm, he turned to his ex-boyfriend. “You can crash, you know. It looks like you haven’t slept.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, “I just need to rest my eyes…” As he said the words, he felt his mind start to drift away. 

Next to him, Tony settled into him as he lit a cigarette.

xxx

“Yeah?”

Natasha’s voice was cold and defensive. The fact that she picked up the phone at all was a miracle. She could have let it go; anyone else would have after what happened at work. But this was a woman who had gone through this before, and a call at six in the morning was never a good sign. When silence still filtered through the line, she asked, still sternly, “Steve? You there?”

Steve gasped through a sob, “Tash, I-I think…I don’t know what to do…I really fucked up…” _Just spit it out_ , his mind shrieked.

She let out a hiss of breath. “Are you in trouble again? Do you need money?”

“No, I—,” Steve rushed through tears, “it’s not—Tony’s—”

Natasha interrupted him sharply. “What is it? Did he hurt you again? I knew something like this—”

“Tony’s dead!” He’s not sure how he barked it out, but a sob followed and left him panting for breath.

The other end of the phone was silent, save for some rustling and a door closing. Steve heaved for breath and was about to ask if his friend – _Is she still your friend?_ – was still there. But Natasha beat him to speaking. “I’m on my way. Don’t move.” Steve coughed and nodded, but knew she couldn’t see it. “And Steve – don’t do anything stupid.” Then, the line went dead.

 _Don’t use_ , his mind reminded him. He clutched his phone to his chest and curled into himself. He’d moved to the couch, unable to hold the contents of his stomach when he saw his ex-boyfriend’s lifeless eyes.

Usually, traveling from Natasha’s apartment to Steve’s was a ten minute walk. Natasha made it in seven and a half minutes; Steve would have been impressed if he wasn’t busy sobbing into her chest as soon as she walked through the door.

“I didn’t know—he said he didn’t do that much—I just went to sleep and I woke up to—” His voice caught in his throat, and he fell into a coughing fit.

Natasha rubbed his back. “It’s not your fault,” she soothed. “Don’t put this on yourself.” She had already called the police on her way, and they arrived soon after she did.

One officer tried to get a statement, but Steve was too distraught to get the story out. Somehow, Natasha coaxed the officer to let her take his friend out for a cigarette. As soon as they were outside, Steve vomited onto the sidewalk. At some point, his friend had grabbed his smokes and a lighter, and she lit one for him. He held it between shaking fingers and took rapid, deep puffs.

Softly, as if she was speaking to a wounded animal, Natasha put into words what Steve didn’t want to think. “That could have been you.”

_Maybe it should have been._

Steve nodded fiercely. “I know.” He didn’t know what else to say. She was right, and he wasn’t going to try to fight it.

His friend caught his eyes with hers when she spoke again. “I think you know what you need to do.”

He nodded again. Tears welled into his eyes again and his chin quivered. “I know. I need to. I just…I didn’t mean for this…” He motioned up towards the apartment complex. Tears started to fall onto his cheeks and he started to sniffle. “I’m sorry, Tash. For yesterday, I—I didn’t mean it. If I would have listened—”

Natasha nodded and pulled him into a tight hug, stroking his back softly. He buried his face in her hair. “I know. Let’s get this over with, okay? We just need to go back up, give your statement, and we’ll find somewhere for you to go. You can stay with me.”

Steve thanked his best friend with another firm hug. “Thank you,” he whispered through tears, “for everything.”

“Hey,” she soothed again, “it’ll all be—” _But you know it’ll never be_ “—okay.”

Natasha stayed by his side when they went back into his apartment, held his hand when he gave his statement, and wrapped an arm around his waist when they were permitted to leave. She spent the day and most of the night on her phone and the internet, looking for a place that would take Steve in on such short notice. Somehow, with her way to sweet-talk, she found a place in northern Pennsylvania, specifically designed for addicts who have relapsed.

Steve must have fallen asleep at some point, because his friend shook him awake at five in the morning the next day. She drove them to his apartment, packed clothes and his sketchbook for him so that he didn’t have to go in, and then started the long drive south.

The car ride was silent, and for that Steve was grateful. Withdrawal pains had taken over again hours ago, and it didn’t help anything that his nerves were shot. His mind taunted him with Tony’s face, eyes wide and glazed over, mouth open with rotting vomit filling his throat. Natasha squeezed his hand when he cried silently, but she still said nothing.

As they pulled into the facility parking lot, Steve’s mind was silent, blank. He felt numb and his body seemed to move as if it was on auto-pilot.

One thought echoed through his mind, but he never received an answer. _Why couldn’t it have been me?_


End file.
